I rotate my chair back to face my desk, taking one last drag of smoke before tapping the butt into the ashtray. I’m about to text Alex and let him know I am on my way to The Sandy Claws, when I hear heels clacking their way to my office door. The clacking continues, echoing down the hallway, until suddenly it stops. I wait a moment before walking toward the door.
I decide to get up, since I have to be heading out, anyway. I go to grab my hat and another smoke for the walk to The Sandy Claws, when I see the gold knob of my door turn.
“Car, you in there?” I hear Lizzie’s muffled voice speak into the wood of the door.
She proceeds to open the door, but instead of walking in, she stands there, hand on the doorframe, poking her head in. Her wavy hair drapes over her shoulder as she leans there waiting, as if I asked her to just barge in my office.
“What, we don’t knock anymore?” I ask.
“Sorry, I just thought—” she begins.
“What do you need, Lizzie? I’m running late,” I interrupt her.
“Should I contact that guy about driving Sienna tomorrow?”
I squeeze past her, still waiting there in the doorway. As I walk away, I see her turn her heels to face my back as I head toward the elevator. I press the down arrow and turn to her while I wait for the doors to open.
“Yes, you can contact Mr. Mendez about driving Ms. Ricci tomorrow morning.”
“You got it, Car. Have a good night.”
“Yes … you too, Lizzie.” I nod goodbye to her as I back into the elevator.
She nods back at me with a surprised grin, as if she wasn’t expecting me to agree to her proposal. I’ve known Lizzie long enough to know that she is playing some sort of game with me. Too bad for her that games are my specialty, I rarely lose.
Chapter9
Sienna
Since my phone conversation with Mr. Moretti, I have spent the past few days packing up my belongings so I can begin working for this elusive man. I have tried searching for any information I could find him and Marked Inc., without much luck. Aside from a carefully curated website, I can’t find any pictures of him, no links to personal social media, nothing. It’s like he is a ghost. That, or maybe he is just that good at this whole public relations gig, because everything appears to be meticulously concealed.
Being the daughter of Matteo Ricci, I have encountered my fair share of sketchy characters, and everything about Carmine Moretti feels sketchy. His presumptuous attitude both insulted and ignited something deep inside of me. I would be lying if I said that his mysterious approach wasn’t intriguing, instead of raising the red flags that it should be waving in my face.
I think that’s what years of complacency have done to me. Years of staying in this house, waiting for a sign to move on with my life. My idleness has now brought on cravings for thrills that make me think I am more like my father than I probably care to admit.
Now, as I pack the last few boxes, I am indulging the part of me that is sick of being stuck in this house, this town, this life. Maybe getting lost in the unknown is exactly what I need.
As I go to move the tape dispenser across the top of the large moving box, I realize that this was probably a bad sizing choice, considering the number of books I packed inside. This shit is going to be heavy to move, that is, if it doesn’t collapse before making it into Nessa’s car.
Before I bring the tape down to seal the side of the box, I debate taking some books out to leave here for when I visit. But the thought of not having all my books where I am gives me more anxiety than the possibility of the box breaking in the moving process. So, instead, I do what any introverted bookworm would do when faced with such a first world dilemma: I drag that tape down and lock all those book babies in. They have no choice; they are all coming with me.
Now that the book dilemma is settled, I take one last look at the room I have spent my entire life sleeping in. Not much has changed over the years. The walls are still painted pink with a hideous floral wallpaper border lining all four walls, along with posters of Blink 182, Selena, and Eminem, and a bulletin board full of memories too good not to save. I walk toward the bulletin board that has been pinned with old movie stubs, random postcards from years of traveling with Mama and Papa, and my college graduation picture with Titi Lana and Nessa standing by my side. I smile as I take in the collage of pictures and collected memories that have made up my life.
Taking in the board once more, my heart sinks as I look at the two pictures toward the top that I purposely tried to put high enough that they don’t catch my direct line of vision. Not that I don’t want them there, it’s just that seeing both pictures instantly bring me back a place that saddens me. But today is as good a day as any to look up and see what I have lost before I gain whatever adventure awaits me when I step foot in the city.
I raise my hand to trace the picture of Mama and Papa holding me the day I was born. Even after an excruciating twenty-six-hour labor, Mama looks so elegant. Without a stitch of makeup on, the pure happiness that radiates from her face only complements her natural beauty. Her wavy, black hair frames her face, complimenting her sun-kissed skin.
I run a hand through my now onyx hair. I dyed it a couple years ago, and although I keep mine straight, I see more of a resemblance to Mama in me than ever before now that my hair is the same hue as hers was. I look back to the picture, admiring the way Papa is sitting next to her. He has one hand draped over her shoulder and the other caressing my cheek as he smiles down at me. Judging from the grin on his face, you can see the love he felt in the moment. It’s a love that even with them gone I still can feel to this day.
A lump begins to form in my throat as my eyes scan over to the next picture of Leo and me. It’s a grainy polaroid selfie, which is ironic, because it’s from a time when selfies weren’t even coined as such. My hand is outstretched to take the picture, which looking back, seems so much more difficult than it is now, since there was no preview screen staring back at us to make sure we were in frame.
I cringe at the amount of hot pink eye shadow I have on, along with heavy onyx liner. But even with my poor choice in makeup on full display, it doesn’t take away from the expression on Leo’s face. His lips are half-puckered, kissing my cheek as he lets this adorable smile poke through the corner of his mouth. The look on his face is like the way that Papa looked at Mama in the picture just next to it. The look of true love.
The lump in my throat has now erupted into a stream of tears that escape my grieving eyes. Shit, I don’t have time for this. I go to wipe my tears away and then bring my now tear-slicked fingers to my lips as I kiss them, bringing them back to both pictures to say goodbye.
Sadness and hope mix in my gut as I accept the closing of this chapter of my life that I have left open for longer than it needs to be. I can still grieve my losses without losing anymore of myself in the process. Today, I am finally giving myself permission to move on.
I pile the few remaining boxes by the door so I can start bringing them downstairs, and just as I turn to grab my duffel bag off my bed, I hear a car door slam. Confused, because Nessa shouldn’t be here yet to pick me up, I head to the window looking over the front of the house from my room. I move the curtain over and look down toward the driveway and see Titi Lana’s black Escalade, but I don’t see her.
